


The Sun and the Earth

by Angel-without-wings-sew (John_lockian), John_lockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, HiatuStory June Challenge, Hiatus submission, Little Bit of Magic, M/M, Post season 4 NON compliant, Summer Solstice, submissionjunechallenge2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_lockian/pseuds/Angel-without-wings-sew, https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_lockian/pseuds/John_lockian
Summary: PrefaceJohn’s nightmares have transformed. Gone now have the manic, terrifying dreams that encompass him in a cacophony of rifle fire, heat from explosions, sound of desperate screams and the stench of blood and burning flesh. The dreams where he woke sobbing, still feeling the soldier in his arms as his life ebbed away, eyes becoming vacant, the body an empty vessel. He still dreams about the battles that took many of his men, that left him fighting for his life, but now there is something extra, every dream he has had for weeks has been filled with light, not always visual, sometimes just the feeling of light an all-pervasive warmth, an ethereal inner glow that salved his fear, taking the edge of the nightmares. Sometimes he saw everything bathed in warmth a rosy hue, an aura of light around the horrors allowing him to dissociate from the pain as the light bathed everything in view.It was the change of dream intensity, that made him pull up short as he passed Waterstones bookshop, “When is a feather not a feather? - Interpretation of dreams and how to let them guide your life.” John was drawn inside to investigate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I started this story before the June prompt came out, the mention of summer solstice got me thinking. When the real prompt came out, I thought I wouldn't write one this month, as I am just not imaginative enough.
> 
> However now this is finished, I think that if you are a bit tipsy, and squint a lot whilst reading, this story might just fit the brief...  
> Sorry.... Hope that's ok..  
> I'm still really new at writing. Love comments. and Kudos, come on who doesn't?
> 
> I am also Angel-without-wings-sew on Tumblr if you want to say hi.
> 
> I have split this work into chapters. They are not that long but as a beginner it just helped me a little to stop it running away with me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> The periodic song to the tune of Offenbach's Can-Can https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgVQKCcfwnU (I can actually hear Sherlock singing this to Rosie)
> 
> Brahms Lullaby https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4OpXal0H04 (beautiful)

_**How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one's senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to reality. **  
Norman Douglas**** _

****It had been two years now. Two years since John had settled back at 221b Baker Street with Rosie in toe, life was good. He and Sherlock would never be the same, after coming out of the ‘dark age’ as they often referred to ‘those times’. So much loss, so much heart break, so much pain and disappointment had been shared by the two men, each aware that they in turn had been responsible for at least some of the pain inflicted on the other. That was the hard bit. What was done, was done. But it was so hard to forget the hurt they had caused one another.

  
They had lounged one night in their respective armchairs, each nursing a glass of Taliska. The single malt had been a thank you gift from the distillers on the Isle of Skye after a case of embezzlement had been solved in hours by Sherlock. The Bottle had been forgotten at the back of a cupboard during the bad times, but had been unearthed recently when Sherlock was searching for a lost set of pipettes. The Malt was fine, an odd aroma really, reminiscent of the seaside, all seaweed, fresh and salty, but the taste, mmm the taste, a luxurious mix of smoke and pepper with an aftertaste of fine malt barley. The whiskey soon released their tongues, allowing words both happy and sad to pour from them, each taking it in turn to purge their souls of some of the things that had remained unsaid. The warmth and anaesthetic properties of the alcohol taking the edge off the situation.

  
They had discussed Mary of course, the fake suicide, Afghanistan, and so much more in those hours, at times the air had rippled with energy, at other times despair, but they pushed on, exploring the limits of how much they could let go of. And finally, they had succumbed to the effects of the Malt and the late hour falling asleep in the company of each other. It had been cathartic, and the following days had been lighter in many ways. They had stopped walking on eggshells regarding the taboo subjects, allowing mention of same, to pass through conversation easily if, or when they were broached. They could chat more easily about Rosie, discussing aspects of parenting, about the practicalities of life, shopping, laundry and other tedious matters. The one thing that was never spoken about was themselves. ‘They’ as in ‘them’ as in ‘the two of them’ as in ‘what the hell were they to each other’. Many times, John had caught himself looking at Sherlock, and he knew in his heart that he loved him deeply. He didn’t understand that love. He felt it was something that could never be verbalised. But he knew that Sherlock was his sun, his very own shining star, the light in his very core, without which he would cease to be, would wither and die.

  
What unnerved John however were the times where he found his eyes wandering in a more intimate manner, the small things he noted. A curl of dark hair flopping forward as Sherlock giggled with Rosie. A bead of sweat falling from Sherlock’s brow, meandering a path as it escaped and disappeared under Sherlock’s collar. The V of skin exposed by Sherlock’s every unbuttoned collar. And, Sherlock’s eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes. John had noticed several times a feeling of prickling like an electric current along his spine and as he looked up he had found Sherlock observing him, scrutinizing him with an odd look on his face. In these moments, they were temporarily lost in each other’s eyes before they shook slightly, turning away as though the moment had been imagined.  
John no longer dated women. “What? Why the hell had he thought that? He no longer dated, full stop. He wasn’t sure why his mind had decided to add on the clarification of gender. That made his brain jingle with uncertainty. He hadn’t dated anyone, since he had been back in 221b. “I’m a responsible dad now, have to look after Rosie now, can’t afford to upset the delicate balance in Rosie’s life, am too tired for dating” were just some of the many excuses put forward if anyone had enquired about his love life. Sherlock however had often mulled over these responses, thinking that single mums and dads dated all the time, so deduced that John’s excuses were lame at best. But for once he held his tongue.

  
The following day, John sat in his chair in the afternoon warmth, Rosie was having lunch downstairs with Mrs Hudson and he and Sherlock sat in companionable silence. Suddenly the room brightened as a cloud moved away from the sun, and he gasped as he looked at Sherlock. The sun’s rays hit him in such a way that he seemed to glow, a halo, an ethereal contrast between his milky pale skin and the warmth of the sun. Sherlock and the sun merged into one celestial wonder. John just stared, “beautiful, beautiful man” His brain narrated his unspoken words. John was oblivious to the quirk of eyebrow that Sherlock had lifted at the sound of John’s gasp. Once again Sherlock held his tongue.

  
John had felt confused for some time after this occurrence, and then his mind drifted back to the words on the page of the dream analysis book he had picked up at the bookstore. It had stated that dreams where the shining sun, sunlight, or warmth was centre stage, represented an individual who was looking for sojourn, comfort, and that to feel the sun around him was his minds way of saying that something or someone close at hand was enveloping him in the safety and love that he craved. Seeing Sherlock in front of him, part and parcel of the sun had made him shake his head a little in disbelief. “Is that how he saw Sherlock, his protector? His comfort? His life? "


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter2.

_Family isn't about whose blood you have. It's about who you care about._

**_Trey Parker and Matt Stone_ ** _, South Park, Ike's Wee Wee, 1998_

Sherlock woke every morning waiting for the proverbial axe to fall. As soon as his brain came on line, he awaited the moment where reality slammed back into him, to reveal the person who was lonely, and bereft of friends. His breath would hasten his heart beat accelerate. Then he would hear the small sounds of Rosie playing in her room. Rosie who slept even less than he did, but who was happy to play if she had something to engage her young mind. His relief at that moment, never failed to fuel his fire and extinguish the doubt that had plagued that dark age. Now he was, well, he was happy. Mmmm, yes happy. A word people use every day, but until recently, a word he had never fully comprehended. Sure, he had experienced, delight, and excitement; the odd moment of joy. And over the past six months or so, he had laughed a lot more when Rosie, or more usually, John did something hilariously silly. But now, yes happiness. It was a constant, only interrupted by that momentary lapse of uncertainty each morning as he woke.

 

John and he had settled into a routine. It had not been easy, at all to begin with. Firstly, he had to learn the A-Z of baby care. He himself had never been nurtured as a child, and yet, when Rosie was in his arms or on his lap. His intuition just seemed to take over. He was sure he appeared odd to those who didn’t know him well. Singing the period table song to the tune of Offenbach’s Can-Can, reduced her and John to fits of giggles, but must have raised an eyebrow from those who were more accustomed to‘Baa Baa black sheep’. He changed nappies, with a scientific mind, automatically cataloguing stool and urine colour and odour in comparison to what Rosie had eaten. He comforted her from sleep terrors playing Brahms lullaby, and he stimulated her mind by telling her scientific facts.

John welcomed his parenting, never questioning him. Always accepting of his decisions and Sherlock was of his. When John had moved into 221b with Rosie, there had been some concern for Rosie’s safety. Both he and Sherlock had made many enemies over the years, and neither could bear the thought of Rosie becoming a pawn in some kidnap plan. Therefore Sherlock and John had hired two highly trained nannies who rotated shifts, they came in, when Sherlock and John were on cases. During cases, one or the other of the nannies stayed in the newly renovated 221C, tending to Rosie who was so easy to love. Both Sherlock and John had realised early on that as best friends they would co-parent Rosie, but they understood that at the heart of their beings, they both needed to work, to be out there, in danger, to solve cases, it was who they were. If John was to have stayed home with Rosie, it would have changed him, and neither he or Sherlock wanted this. So, like many parents, they both worked. They were just lucky enough (thanks to Mycroft) to have highly trained assassin nannies at their disposal. It had been hard to begin with, allowing someone else to share the parenting roles. But both he and John had known how necessary it was. Of course, Sherlock had insisted before they began, that both nannies educated themselves with a 20-page dossier of Rosie facts. A dossier he had put together to ensure that the parenting between John, himself and the nannies would be as seamless as possible. Yes, life was good.

He and John had returned to taking cases. The thrill of solving a crime never diminished and they still often collapsed back in the flat in the early hours of the morning, panting and giggling as the adrenalin surged through their veins. And when Sherlock watched John at these times. His heart faltered. From 13 minutes and 26 seconds after meeting John, he knew this man was special. That feeling had grown, and the seed had matured into love and a deep and all-consuming love to be more precise. Of course, he knew, John wasn’t interested in Physical intimacy. He had made that ultimately clear on many occasions where he had pulled away from Sherlock when they had accidently touched or in some cases been flung together by explosive forces. But Sherlock knew that whilst John was here, with him at Baker Street, he would be happy. He could take care of his hormones, in the privacy of the bathroom. John needn’t ever know. He ensured that John wouldn’t guess at his hidden ardour.

John was like earth to him. John was dependable, solid, and sturdy. Not just in his physicality but by nature too. Of course, at times, he would explode, and just as an earthquake rips the ground apart, John would shout and stomp when his feelings became too intense to bare, but afterwards, calm would again ensue. It was a balance between them, each making the other whole.  He recalled the recent event, when he himself had been so angry, when Lestrade and his men had messed a case up. The criminal, a serial robber getting away on a technicality. Anger and heat had surged through his veins, he had been at the point of a super nova meltdown, spluttering his disdain of the police force, swiping the coffee table clear of its contents. Then he had become aware of John’s presence. John standing in the kitchen, his back to the room facing the window, the rain pouring outside, hammering on the windows leaving rivulets of water gushing from top to bottom of the pane. John stood, compact, feet planted solidly on the ground as though at one with nature outside. John lost in his thoughts or maybe, ignoring Sherlock’s tantrum, had emanated a cool tranquil energy, waves of calm drifting from his body across the space to Sherlock. The anger within Sherlock had been immediately doused by the beauty and serenity emanating from John, his John. His earth. His world.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ― **Dr. Seuss**_

 

John had revisited the bookshop, wanting to read more, he was intrigued by dream interpretation. He felt that there had to be more, there had to be something tangible, some explainable tether connecting him to Sherlock. He leafed through various books concentrating hard. And then he was aware that the sales assistant was asking him a question.

“Are you celebrating the summer solstice? “

John, gaped not quite willing to acknowledge that he didn’t even know what the summer solstice was and therefore didn’t know whether he should be celebrating it, or how he would do such a thing.

“Erm, to be honest, this,” his hands waved over the books about spirituality and wiccan, “it’s all new to me, I was just erm, looking at dreams and …. Well yeah” John grimaced over his inability to be able to have a halfway intelligent conversation with this woman.

The assistant observed and smiled. “You, sir, are a good soul. You have seen pain. But in you I see potential and much happiness but you must open the door. In fact, this is a great time to do it, with the solstice almost upon us.” The assistant went on to explain about the summer solstice, about the longest day and the shortest night. She told John that during the solstice, the universe, the sun, the earth was so powerful, and at that time, the sun and the earth were closest both in the physical / astrophysical sense as well as in the spiritual sense. It was time to celebrate.

At the words of the sun’s power, John looked up and smiled. “I have a… an erm.. a friend. He reminds me of the sun”. He suddenly felt stupid. What on earth was he telling this stranger? “I mean, erm, not like that, I mean he isn’t hot or anything, I just keep dreaming about the sun”, oh God this was getting worse. “Oh Shit - I mean, he just, oh It doesn’t matter, just ignore me”

The woman smiled a smile that touched her eyes and seemed to emanate from her heart. “I know what you mean, it isn’t silly you know. It seems you have found a friend that is so special. It seems you have found your soul mate. He is your sun, a star with huge power and unless I am mistaken, you will find that you are his earth. – You temper his spontaneity, his fire, you keep him grounded. Sun is a symbol of life itself with its heat and light. It is also a celestial body that for millennia has stood for knowledge and authority. To see sun in your dreams is to acknowledge the authority and power of this celestial body. You are looking for guidance and help which is why you see sun in your dreams. “

John gaped at her, his mouth open slightly as he almost felt compelled to listen.

She continued, “You have a grounding energy; you breathe life into him when he is burning up and out of control with excess heat. You calm him. You are in tune with the compassion of nature, beauty in its raw form, you speak, people hear and trust you; touch and they feel your healing, compassionate hands. You will guide him and his will guide you. You are so lucky to have him. In two days’ time on the 22nd the earth and sun will be closer than at any other time of the year. And you and he will be closer than at any other time too. If there are things to be said that remain unsaid, take this opportunity, as this day brings great power and a little bit of magic.”

 

 After leaving the book store John felt a little like he had had his tea leaves read. The woman was obviously mad! But then again, she had spoken words that resonated with him, he felt like she had looked right into his very being. John took the long way home, He walked through Green Park, feeling the wind on his skin, and felt the summer sun wrapping around his very being. The aroma of freshly mown grass gave him a deep feeling of satisfaction as did the gentle whisper of the trees as they were tickled by the light breeze. He thought about Sherlock, his sun, his very own super star. A mighty force; powerful and strong, often volatile causing the energy he emitted to damage those in his wake. But the other side was the warmness and the life and vitality he had. When an idea came to him, he literally glowed; satisfaction and splendour emanating from his very core. Just as the sun sat in the sky, a force to be reckoned with, Sherlock sat in his heart, warming him from within.

As John reached the built up city once again, he felt at peace, at one with the world and as he walked through the beauty of historic London, he recognised the need that to step into the unknown. He knew that he had to tell Sherlock about his feelings. He was convinced in his heart, that the foundation of their friendship would not come crashing down. They had been through too much! But, well he just felt like a tit. He didn’t want Sherlock to grin or laugh, or even worse, to look pitifully at him as he made his declaration. He just wanted quiet acceptance, for Sherlock to understand why he sometimes acted like a school girl on prom night. Sherlock could be told, then they could go on, just the same, without an elephant in the room. As he thought about Sherlock, he felt a calm envelope him. He felt warm and grounded, He felt brave.

 

The following morning John felt that the universe was giving him a helping hand. He and Sherlock had not been on a case in over a week and were a little stir crazy, tensions running high, especially on Sherlock’s side. Mrs Hudson had noticed and had chatted to Anna one of the nannies before approaching John and Sherlock first thing with her proposal. “Boy’s Boys, listen up. My God daughter is really very special to me and I have hardly seen her these last few weeks. She is growing so quickly. I was wondering, well I know how protective you are of her, but I was wondering if you would let me take her away for a few days. With Anna, of course! She is happy to come and work through. It will be like a little holiday. I thought we could take her to the beach and buy her ice-cream and I promise to look after her boys.”

 

Sherlock, started to panic, the air around him crackling with tension, his protective nature rearing up threatening to annihilate anyone in his path. John glanced over at Sherlock, his mind throwing out those calming vibes as he said, “How lovely, what a lovely idea- She loves you very much Mrs Hudson and we trust you implicitly. Of course, along with Anna you will be able to keep her safe, and she won’t wear you out. She will have a wonderful time and, and yes Sherlock and I will be grateful for a boy’s night out!”

Sherlock almost choked at the thought of a boy’s night out, but as he looked at John he felt calm. John looked happy, and content. And Sherlock found himself reassuring Mrs Hudson. “Yes of course Mrs Hudson. You should take her and have fun, she will love it! When do you intend to go?”

“Well, today, this afternoon? My sister is in Hastings for the next few days so I thought we could join her? Anna has a car on standby from Mycroft so it will be safe and luxurious for the trip, we won’t need to pack much, and I already have things like baby sun block and a hat and little sun glasses, I bought them a while ago, just in case, you know?”

John smiled, at her excitement, and forward planning. In turn Sherlock relaxed a little more, knowing that Rosie would be fine, and in fact would have a wonderful little holiday. And so, it was, later that afternoon, a giggling Rosie was strapped into her car seat into the back of the black limo followed by “Anna and Mrs Hudson.

 

“Aaah, its quiet”, John sighed, rolling his shoulders to unfurl his tight muscles. He looked around and quickly tidied Rosie’s toys away into her toy box and put her books back on her shelf before going to make a cup of tea.”

“John. About this boy’s night out? I don’t really think I am up to that really”, Sherlock muttered from the doorway, glancing up, unsure, not wanting to disappoint John.

“Oh, Sherlock, I didn’t mean, well, by boy’s night out, I sort of meant, me and you, a meal maybe, a bottle or two of wine, whilst we have no responsibilities, and just to chill out. I didn’t mean a big get together with all of Scotland Yard.”

Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed, he didn’t enjoy big get-togethers but he did enjoy meals out with John. “Oh yes, shall we go to Angelo’s?”

John laughed as this was his plan since Mrs Hudson had come up with her idea. Tonight, he would tell Sherlock how he felt. After, all tomorrow was the solstice, He didn’t know much about it but presumed that somehow midnight to midnight was ‘the magic time’. He chuckled quietly to himself not certain why he had developed a sudden interest in the supernatural, or, well whatever it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Sherlock! John! it has been too long” Angelo somehow managed to pull them both together into a tight embrace, John’s nose and mouth shoved against the hard wall of Sherlocks torso as they were squeezed together and praised as being Angelo’s most special customers. After a few seconds, they were released, John gasping for air, blushing furiously.

“Warm John?” Sherlock's low voice rumbled toward him and for some reason he blushed more.

“You near bloody suffocated me, you are like a man mountain Sherlock” John giggled lightly despite his discomfiture.

Sherlock smirked indulgently as they were both seated in their regular seats by the window. Angelo bustled over, uncorking a bottle of Pinot noir telling them that of course the wine was on the house, and they were just to give a nod when ready to order their meal.

John felt suddenly a little self-conscious. He had showered with extra care, shaved with more precision than usual before dressing in a pair of his favourite jeans and V neck jumper. He felt like he was going to an interview, a meeting where he might be studied furiously, where each micro emotion might be observed. He felt silly, this was Sherlock. He would take it in his stride.

Sherlock noticed that John looked good this evening, he noticed the way the jumper fitted in all the right places. The way those jeans hugged John’s arse. He also noticed that John seemed a little on edge, but he held his tongue, something he realised he had been doing a lot lately.

John had taken a good sidelong glance at Sherlock as they strolled to Angelo’s. As usual Sherlock, had dressed impeccably, his trousers, tailored perfectly to allow movement but also to hug his shape, his long legs and taught muscular thighs. His slim cut purple shirt, clung to his body, and his curls as usual had been tamed and threatened within an inch of their lives. Sherlock rarely ‘did’ casual but tonight as they had sat down in the restaurant he removed his perfectly tailored jacket in deference to the warm evening. John loved seeing Sherlock dressed up, he was a handsome man, and John tried hard not to stare as little butterflies fluttered around his insides.

 

Angelo breezed over lighting the obligatory ‘romantic’ candle and depositing a bread basket, a dish of the finest olive oil and a bowl of olives before taking John’s order of _Capellini_ _Positano_ , and Sherlock’s order of _Tialpia Angelo_. Wine was poured and conversation was easy. Both Sherlock and John relaxing into the child free evening. John giggled at a comment made by Sherlock who then had to hide his sudden intake of breath behind a cough. Johns laugh, was like liquid silver and it glazed Sherlocks insides in a luminescent glow. For so long John’s heart had been broken, Sherlock had wondered if he would hear the laughter again, but it had come gradually and now was an omnipresent sound in their home, ever present but never faltering in the physical effect it had on Sherlock.

As Sherlock’s mind wandered, John studied him. Wondering what he was thinking, he had once called Sherlock a machine, ughh, God, even the thought of that comment now made him feel nauseous. He knew now that Sherlock, wasn’t only not a cold and uncaring automaton, but he was probably one of the most sensitive people he knew. John now knew that he hid that sensitivity to protect himself from the pain and rejection he had felt throughout his life and felt privileged to be one of the few people other than Rosie to see this gently, nurturing side of Sherlock.

John suddenly realized that Sherlock’s mind had returned to the present, and now he was being observed in return. They both blushed, the tips of Johns ears turning pink, and Sherlocks neck reddening as they had both been caught in the act so to speak. Then they both laughed. The laughter breaking the tension before it had time to establish and nothing more was said.

When the food arrived, they grinned as the aromas of garlic, tomatoes and onions filled the air around them. They had never had a poor meal at the hands of Angelo. The food was simply divine. Both men grunted and hummed in appreciation as they ate. John cherished these times when Sherlock's appetite reared its head, allowing Sherlock to tuck into his meal with gusto. At some point Angelo, had whipped over and replaced the spent wine bottle with a fresh one, and by the time they had finished their entrée and Tiramisu dessert, they were both sated, a little more than tipsy and feeling very contented. They sat and chatted some more whilst Angelo brought coffee, and sat a while with them reminiscing over old times and enquiring about _La bambina piccola_ _Rosie._ Sherlock and John both enthused about Rosie’s progress, sharing anecdotes of her achievements whilst Angelo sat glowing with pride for them both. John suddenly realized that the restaurant was empty and as he checked his watch he realized that the time was 11:30pm.

“Wow, time flies when having fun John said” as he silently tried to message his desire to leave now to Sherlock. He knew that Angelo would happily talk well into the night if they didn’t take their leave.”

Sherlock, reading Johns unspoken message stood, “Angelo, once again your hospitality has been second to none, but we must take our leave, thank you for a lovely meal once again.”

Once again Angelo moved forward to take them both into a crushing hug but John, ready this time, managed to side step so Sherlock got the all-encompassing hug, whilst Angelo managed only to grab Johns elbow patting and thanking them for the custom.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_His kisses tapped into deep mines of memory, and the years that had separated us fell away as if they were nothing. —Lisa Kleypas_

 

The air was still warm, even this close to midnight as they strolled back toward Baker street. John knew he needed to tell Sherlock his feelings before he chickened out. But his awareness of Sherlock’s presence so near, made him almost speechless. Electricity hummed between them both, little static shocks invisible to the naked eye but as obvious to John as was the need to keep breathing. Sherlock opened the door to 221, stepped in and turned misjudging John’s timing and slamming right into him.

“Whoa Sherlock” John Laughed as he stumbled back. Sherlock’s hand had shot out to steady him before he fell back out of the door. John righted himself, catching his breath then rooted to the spot, just stared at Sherlock. The silence was deafening. Neither seemed to know what to say or how to move. John could feel the heat from Sherlock’s hand on his arm, like a scorching sun, amplified through a magnifying glass. But instead of pain it brought pleasure. John instinctively leant into the touch, and Sherlock’s other hand moved slowly to rest against his other arm, his eyes piercing John’s as though he could read his thoughts if he tried hard enough.

 

“John? Are you ok?” Sherlock’s voice deep and melodic thrummed through John.

John wanted to talk, but he was just stuck; star struck, his sun, had frozen him to the spot. At that thought John just burst out giggling… frozen by the sun? Jeez what was happening to him. He looked up to Sherlock and smiled. “Sherlock, I’m fine, but, but I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something”.

For a moment Sherlock looked confused, he had certainly picked up earlier that John had something on his mind, but that feeling had passed with the easiness of the night. “John what is it? Are you ok? Please tell me”

Once again John could say nothing, he just didn’t know how. For so long his feelings had been a kaleidoscopic cacophony of emotions. A blur that he could never quite hold onto for long enough to sort out, what if he was wrong, what if his confession sent Sherlock running for the hills. What if Sherlock was happy with the situation but John realized that he needed more. He was terrified of ruining the only real love apart from Rosie that he had ever experienced.

Sherlock bowed his head slightly, reducing the distance between his head and John’s. “John, what is it? Are you ill?”

Suddenly, John heard the clock strike twelve. “It’s the summer solstice today Sherlock”

Sherlock looked at John, wondering if he had bumped his head when he had visited the lavatory.

“It’s after twelve, Sherlock, it’s the solstice today!” John was giddy, now able to speak but not realizing that he sounded like a child who had indulged in too many blue coloured candies.

Sherlock looked at John surreptitiously checking for signs of concussion.

“Yes John, the longest day of the year, a time where the earth’s axis is….. Sherlock had slipped into his mind palace to purge the room in which he kept facts about space, the solar system and other ‘useless information’ (for John’s benefit).

Unexpectedly, Sherlock was ripped back to the present confused for a moment what was happening, then realizing that Johns lips were covering his own, soft, cool. Sherlock gasped.

John drew back, his heart plunging into the depths, John tried to step back, to run, to hide. “Oh this had been such a mistake.”

Sherlock still had his hands on his arms and held him in place firmly. He looked into John’s eyes, falling into the ocean before him and leant in , this time to take Johns lips.

Time stuttered as Sherlock and John found the wonder of each other’s tongues, teeth, and lips. Sucking gently and, not so gently at each other’s mouths. Hands moving restlessly over clothes, bodies pressed close, competing to get a better hold on each other.

John was bathed in heat, the radiance engulfed his very being, wakening his nerve endings, sending shocks of ecstasy deep into his core. He felt as though he were being wrapped in a cocoon of secure warmth with an extra side of … hmm… hot.

Sherlock felt bound to John, felt as though he was the ivy clinging for life to a solid wall, yet craved to be closer still. He felt like he was home, like he had put down roots. Feeling John’s very presence running coolly within his veins, the sturdiness and strength holding him tight, holding him in place.

The energy sparked and spluttered around them, arcing from limb to limb, tongue to tongue, and where ever the men laid their hands. It was as though they were making out in a Faraday cage, but alongside that wild energy, a cool calm presence flowed around the men, tempering the heat, reeling in the energy, keeping them grounded and present.

The two men pushed back from each other gasping for air, then they just giggled. They fell into each other’s arms and held each other whilst the excess energy was released.

“Sherlock, this might be a moot point now, but I needed to tell you how much I loved you, and how much I wanted to kiss you”

Sherlock’s laugh rumbled against John’s head, “Oh, John. I love you too, and, well I hope you never stop kissing me.”

In the early hours of the next morning the two men lay together, ragged and sweaty. The heat from their bodies cooling in the night air. They had kissed, touched each other, and whispered words and thoughts that should have been shared months ago, realizing that they had felt the same for each other for so long, vowing to talk more in the future. For now, they needed no more. The physical attraction was almost painful, once they had gotten this far, but the need to just be in each other’s arms, tasting each other, and falling asleep knowing that tomorrow was indeed going to be a very special day, the first day of being this close. But unlike the Celestial bodies above, John and Sherlock knew that they had found their correct orbit and wouldn’t be distancing themselves again. John still wasn’t sure whether he believed in dream interpretation, but he certainly now believed in a little bit of magic.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is in beta'd but I have tried so hard to keep spelling and grammatical errors to a minimum, please let me know if you see anything terrible


End file.
